


you're gonna be my bruise

by Lies_Unfurl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Mating, Mating Bites, Omega Dean, POV Castiel, Porn with Feelings, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lies_Unfurl/pseuds/Lies_Unfurl
Summary: Just before Dean says yes to Michael, he asks Cas to make their relationship official.





	you're gonna be my bruise

Castiel barely hears Dean’s question over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears in a panicked and horribly human reaction as he watches the inevitability he’s been trying to prevent for the better part of a decade come to fruition. His objections catch in the back of his throat, contained except for one, choked-out, _“Dean,”_ because he knows as well as Dean that this is the only chance for Sam and Jack, that all of his protests come from the selfish center of his heart that wants to hold Dean close and closed-off from the rest of the world. He has no right to make it harder for Dean than it already is.

Dean raises a hand to him, focusing on Michael, and repeats, “How much time? Until Lucifer kills them?”

Michael snorts. “Half an hour at least, if I know my brother. He’ll drag it out, for dramatics if nothing else.”

Dean nods, decisive. “Okay. Okay, then. Just give me – gimme a few minutes.”

He turns then, too sudden for Cas to try to hide the devastation on his face. “Cas? Come with me.”

Dean leads him out of the room, ignoring all the murmurs from the refugees, and down a hallway. He walks quickly, like he knows that whatever Michael says, every minute wasted is a minute risking Sam and Jack. 

Cas tries to tease out what he’s feeling, but he’s never understood the link between scent and emotion like humans do. Dean’s soul, too, is clouded with such a mix of emotions that the extra sense probably wouldn’t help him understand.

He doesn’t have long to puzzle over it, though. Dean leads them into his room, closing and locking the door behind them, and then—

And then he bends down and begins unlacing his boots. “Mate me,” he says.

Castiel blinks. “What--?”

“Mate. Me,” Dean repeats. Shoes off, he gets to work on his belt; a second later, his pants have been discarded too. “C’mon, you heard Michael. We don’t have a whole lot of time.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Dean, in the middle of stripping off his boxers, pauses and sighs, then leans in to press his lips to Castiel’s. Cas closes his eyes automatically at the soft press of skin against skin, so it takes him a second to realize that Dean’s hands are busy undoing his own belt now.

He breaks the kiss, forcing himself to turn his head away from Dean. They can’t – this doesn’t make sense.

Dean steps back from him but keeps his thumbs hooked in the loops of his pants. Eyes locked with Castiel’s, he gently tugs them down, before stepping back and pulling off his boxers.

“Cas,” he says gently. “I’m about to do something really fucking stupid. And we both know it’s the right thing to do, and we both know you can’t stop me.”

He nods, still not following. 

“And – and I should’ve done this a long time ago, okay? God, it’s been what, five years? Six?”

That’s right, Castiel thinks, though years seem so small and fast to him that he can never properly track them. But it’s been about five years since Purgatory, when Dean hadn’t access to his suppressants and Castiel had helped him through his heat. Though the suppressants only failed once in the intervening years, they kept lying together all the same. Not every night, but often enough for it to mean something.

“I thought – after we got you back, I was gonna ask you, but the time never seemed right. And that was dumb of me, ‘cause I know that in this life the time’s never gonna be right. But I’m going with Michael. And there’s more of a chance than not that he’s gonna betray me and keep me as a meat puppet for longer than I’d like.”

Dean gets down on one knee. He doesn’t look down as he unties Castiel’s shoes and tugs them off. Instead, their eyes stay locked together, and Castiel feels like he’s having trouble breathing even though he doesn’t really need to breathe at all. 

“Cas. Will you mate me? Mark me up. Claim me as yours. We don’t have a lot of time, but I want Michael to know and remember that I’m never gonna be his. And maybe – maybe that’ll be enough. So he won’t be able to totally Wrath of Khan me, you know?”

Castiel doesn’t really know, because he’s not going to waste precious seconds sifting through the abundance of pop culture knowhow that Metatron uploaded to his brain. Not when Dean is on his knees before him, his eyes bright, blushing just a little, like he’s worried that there’s a chance Castiel will say no to him.

He reaches his hand down, pulls Dean up, and then slams him against the wall, teeth clashing against Dean’s in his rush to kiss him as deeply as he can. Dean gasps beneath him, the scent of his arousal filling the room. When he pulls away, lips cherry-red and swollen, it’s only to look at Castiel with heavy-lidded eyes and murmur, “Just like that. C’mon, Alpha. Make me yours.”

A small sound, a whine, really, breaks out of Cas’s throat. He’s not sure what the cause is – how Dean looks so fully debauched even though they’ve only kissed; how aroused he gets when Dean calls him _Alpha_ in that voice; the overwhelming pain of knowing this could be the last time he ever touches Dean, but he can’t think about that, not if he wants to obey, to do exactly as Dean said, fulfilling every wish he has.

Cas steps back long enough to kick off his pants and boxers, then immediately crowds Dean back against the wall and kisses him again, this time slow and deep, savoring the taste of Dean’s mouth, the feel of their tongues twined together. He rests his forehead against Dean’s, eyes closed.

This time it’s Dean who breaks the kiss, putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder and giving him a gentle shove. “I know you’d like to take this slow and sweet, but we don’t really have time.”

The reminder – as if he’d really needed one, as if he could have forgotten the circumstances that have driven them here – it hurts, but Dean’s right. Dean doesn’t wait for Cas to pull himself together enough to take charge, though. He’s always been good at knowing when Cas needs him to lead.

Dean tugs Cas back in by his tie, kissing up along his neck, gently nipping at his earlobe. With his free hand he takes Castiel’s wrist and brings it over to his where his flesh splits in the back, right above his hole. Cas’s finger dips down automatically, and Dean pauses his movements long enough to moan quietly into Cas’s ears.

Cas shudders and pulls Dean close to him. The hand not resting on Dean’s ass, he drags down his spine, nails digging in just enough to leave the long red marks he knows Dean loves to see all swollen in the mirror the next day. 

Dean gasps again. His cock already hard and leaking, he ruts against Castiel, precome smearing into the seam where his leg meets his groin. One hand still scratching up and down on Dean’s back, Cas lets the other slip down.

He’s always liked taking things slow, making and unmaking Dean with his mouth and his fingers and his knot, but they don’t have the luxury for that right now. So he presses two fingers against Dean’s slicked entrance and then shoves in.

The flesh yields easy, like Dean was planning for this, though Cas knows he couldn’t have been, that there was no time to. It’s nothing besides his arousal that’s made him this wet, this loose.

He crooks his fingers, pressing against Dean’s prostate. Dean shifts his hips downwards, encouraging him to go deeper. Dean’s release soaks through his fingers, and without thinking he thrusts his dick against the soft plane of Dean’s belly.

Dean pulls away from his lips. “Fuck me,” he orders. “C’mon. Mate me, Alpha, and show them all who I belong to.”

The words are almost too much; he wants to stop and throw Dean into the bed, kiss him in all his tenderest spots til he comes from Cas’s mouth alone, and then, only then, slowly fuck into him until his knot swells up, so he can hold Dean after they both come together, feel his warmth, feel how safe he is.

But as Dean has reminded him repeatedly, as his own internal clock ticks down the minutes of not knowing what Lucifer has done to Jack and Sam, they don’t have time. 

So instead he yanks his fingers out of Dean with an obscenely wet _pop_ and adjusts his hands so that he’s pulling Dean’s cheeks apart. His chest presses against Dean’s, crowding him into the wall. This close he can feel Dean’s ragged breaths, matching his, the way that their hearts are racing at the same tempo. “I love you,” he whispers, and then he thrusts in.

He doesn’t wait for Dean to adjust; knows from the years they’ve been doing this that he prefers it to hurt a bit, anyway. Even if he didn’t, the way that Dean eagerly bucks his hips forward to meet Castiel makes it clear just how ready he is.

Cas’s fingernails dig into Dean’s ass, where his hands are still keeping the toned flesh spread and open for him. When they’re done, there’ll be deep red crescents left behind, twin patterns on either cheek reminding Dean of whose he is. His fingers tighten at the thought of how Dean is going to take these marks with him to war. He hopes they bruise, turn into purpled constellations that he can kiss and suck at and deepen if -- _when_ Dean returns. He’ll come back before they fade.

“Almost there. Harder. That’s it, Cas, c’mon, c’mon—”

With no warning besides the tightening of Dean’s hands around his shoulders, Dean’s legs are suddenly wrapped around his waist. He grabs Dean’s thighs, barely hearing Dean’s moan as he slams back against the wall, and fucks harder into Dean’s body, into the body of _his_ omega. Dean’s legs hold him so close that he can’t pull all the way out, but his knot is swelling quick enough that it doesn’t really matter. There’s enough leeway to keep on kindling the friction between them, enough leeway for him to keep his frenetic rhythm against Dean’s prostate.

Everyone in the bunker can probably hear Dean’s shoulder’s slamming hard against the wall, or smell their pheromones even through the closed door and down the hall. It doesn’t matter. He’s desperate to close his eyes and let his rising arousal finally top off, but he knows how close Dean is, and he has to see his face when he comes, has to commit it to a memory so deeply embedded in his very self that no one, not Michael, not Naomi, not God himself could ever take it away.

“Cas!” Dean cries, his head tipping back. His pupils are blown, the green of his eyes paling with the contrast. His legs, somehow, pull Cas even closer; his mouth drops open as his hole spasms and clenches at Cas’s dick. It’s too much. It’ll never be enough.

At the height of his orgasm, Dean bites down hard at Cas’s mating gland. The rush of endorphins finally sends Cas over the edge. His cock pulsing hot into Dean’s slickened channel, he lifts one hand from where it’s been holding Dean up, wraps his fist tight as he can around Dean’s short hair, pulls his head to the side, and makes his own mark. As his teeth sink in he feels another orgasm crest through Dean, somehow drawing them even closer, even tighter together.

It takes the feeling of Dean’s legs going slack around him to bring Castiel back into himself. His hands slide down just in time to keep Dean steady, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Cas still doesn’t look up. Instead, he nuzzles at the blossoming bruise just above Dean’s collarbone, pressing small, fluttering kisses to the swollen skin. He’s surprised he didn’t draw blood.

“Alpha,” Dean mumbles. A hand pats at Cas’s cheek, fingers tracing their way down to his chin. “C’mere.”

He lets Dean manhandle him into a kiss readily enough. This, at least, is gentle and slow. He tries to hold the moment forever, closing his eyes and letting his other senses take over to fill in the picture – the softness of Dean’s swollen lips, the heady scent of sated arousal, the way Dean presses his forehead to Castiel’s, rubbing their noses together in the almost painfully affectionate way he likes to do after sex. 

“We gotta go,” Dean whispers. “”s been almost ten minutes. I know Lucifer’s still monologuing, but – we gotta go.”

Cas nods, his forehead still pressed to Dean’s, eyes still closed. “I know.”

The not-quite-a-vessel that he’s come to think of as his proper body is an alpha, but angels aren’t meant to reproduce, and his true form doesn’t have any sex characteristics, primary or secondary. His knots, then, don’t last the way a human alpha’s would; there’s no need for them to. God didn’t intend for a creature like him to mate, let alone to crave a moment like this outside, so far away from the biological function of the act.

He’s still got control over his body, though, and Dean – Dean likes being knotted. That first time, in Purgatory, when Cas had pulled away as soon as they’d both come, Dean had practically _snarled_ at him, more upset than angry. Cas had assumed it was the heat talking, but no. Dean won’t ever phrase it in such terms, but he always desperately wants to be close, craves being held, falling asleep with Cas still locked deep inside him.

They don’t have time for that, though.

His knot goes down and he pulls out of Dean, dick making a wet, obscene noise as it slides through the mess of come and slick that, with nothing holding it inside, begins to trail down Dean’s thighs in thick, sluggish streaks.

“Let me clean you,” he says, stretching out two fingers (in another world, he’d clean Dean with his mouth, worship him with his tongue and teeth, but if that world exists somewhere in the multitude of universes, he doubts he’ll ever be lucky enough to find it).

Dean leans back. “What? No. Dude, we’re mates.” He touches the bruise on his neck, grinning giddily, like for a second he’s able to forget what he’s about to do. “If Michael has a problem with that, he can do something about it. Not that I’d let him.”

“That seems needlessly messy,” Cas replies, pulling up his own underwear and pants with no small measure of reluctance. “Everyone will smell it on you. Bobby. Your mother.”

“Nothing they haven’t already suspected. And it won’t be that bad.” Dean steps over his discarded boxers and opens up a dresser drawer. He pulls out a pair of thickly-padded black briefs that Cas recognizes immediately as the slick-absorbent pair he keeps on hand for if his suppressants fail.

Dean shoots him another devil-may-care smile, and something aches deep in Castiel’s chest as he watches Dean, his mate, pull them on. He bends down to tie his shoes, not allowing himself to look at how the material stretches tightly over Dean’s ass, or how his back, before he covers it with his t-shirt, is covered in long red scratches from Castiel’s nails.

They dress in silence. When he straightens up, Cas notices the clock on Dean’s nightstand, and realizes with a start that Dean was right – it hasn’t quite been fifteen minutes since they entered the room. The mating mark that Dean gave him throbs, and he presses a hand to it.

He tears his eyes from the clock to see Dean, now fully clothed, looking at him. He isn’t smiling, not exactly, but his expression is soft and fond all the same. In two steps he’s in front of Castiel, and then his arms are wrapped around him. They don’t even kiss, just stand there, together. Cas closes his eyes and leans into Dean’s shoulder, feels Dean’s hand come up and rest on the back of his head.

“I’m gonna make it back, Cas,” he says quietly. “I promise.”

Cas nods as best he can in the position. His hands unwillingly curl into Dean’s jacket, holding him closer. He forces himself to think of Sam and of Jack, and of a world that needs Dean far more than he does in this moment, squeezes Dean tighter for a fraction of a second, and then straightens up and steps away, breaking the hug.

“I know,” he says. “Let’s go.”

 

Sitting at the table an hour later, when Dean still hasn’t returned and there’s been no word from him, Sam, or Jack, Cas presses hard against the bite on his neck, and tries to convince himself that Dean’s last words to him were true.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Spring Awakening" pls don't @ me lmao
> 
> [ prompts/messages/etc](http://lies-unfurl.tumblr.com). comments always appreciated.


End file.
